


I Walk The Line

by notfreyja, Straight_Outta_Hobbiton



Series: Doubt The Stars [8]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Pon Farr, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Vulcan Emotional Constipation, med school
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-08-10 03:18:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7828408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notfreyja/pseuds/notfreyja, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Straight_Outta_Hobbiton/pseuds/Straight_Outta_Hobbiton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim's going to medical school because, well... he has the time. Getting to irritate his favorite pen pal in person is just a bonus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, it's time. You guys finally get to meet this universe's Bones.  
> Enjoy.
> 
> The playlist for this fic can be found [here.](https://8tracks.com/starhobbit/i-walk-the-line#smart_id=dj:16203706&play=1)
> 
> Follow [not-freyja](https://not-freyja.tumblr.com) and [straight-outta-hobbiton](https://straight-outta-hobbiton.tumblr.com) on Tumblr.

Jim:

Hey, Len, I got a question for ya.

 

Leonard McCoy:

You catch some ASTI?

 

Jim:

No— though I do have a worrying rash spreading up my thighs…

Kidding.

No, I’m looking at schools.

 

Leonard McCoy:

Finally decided to start putting your brains to use?

What are you looking to go for?

 

Jim:

Medical.

Not quite sure which kind, yet.

Maybe pediatrics.

 

Leonard McCoy:

Well, first you’ve gotta go for premed.

 

Jim:

Yeah, I’ve been taking a bunch of classes already.

But I’m gonna need a practical school sometime.

I’ve applied to a bunch of places on Earth.

 

Leonard McCoy:

Really? Any acceptance letters yet?

 

Jim:

A few.

I’m looking at my options.

I’d appreciate your opinion.

 

Leonard McCoy:

Sure. Shoot me a list.

  
  


Jim grins at his comm. He’s already weeded out the obvious choices— the prestige schools, mainly. He wants to see what Len does. He copies and pastes his altered list (complete with scholarships) and sends it along. Then he waits.

 

Leonard McCoy:

Wait just a damn minute.

You got a full ride to Ole Miss?

 

Jim:

Yeah.

You’re there right now, right?

 

Leonard McCoy:

With three years left, God willing.

Mississippi is a good school— and if you still want to go in for pediatrics after finishing up premed, you’d be set. Their pediatrics program is one of the best in the country for extraterrestrial care.

If you still want to go into Starfleet.

 

Jim:

I do.

Do you think I should go?

 

Leonard McCoy:

Well hell, I like it well enough, and there’s no reason to let a scholarship that good pass you by.

 

Jim:

That’s what I was thinking.

Aren’t you a little biased, though?

 

Leonard McCoy:

Temple University’s all well and good, but you ain’t planning to stay on the ground.

 

Jim:

Of course not.

That’d be boring.

 

Leonard McCoy:

Then Ole Miss is the one for you— at least, based off this list.

Unless you’re holding back.

 

Jim:

Well, I got into the Vulcan Science Academy.

But I want to visit Earth.

I’ve never actually set foot on the planet before.

Not since I was a year old.

 

Leonard McCoy:

The Vulcan Science Academy?

You’re better off down here.

Hell, maybe I’ll even get to meet you in person.

 

Jim:

I think that’s a definite.

Well, I guess that settles it.

I’m going to the University of Mississippi.

 

Leonard McCoy:

Good choice.

I’ll see you in the fall, Jim.

 

Jim:

Yes, you will.


	2. Chapter 2

Leonard has only one roommate this semester, despite having taken a three person apartment on campus. This is fine— it means one less person to hog the bathroom in the morning or drink his beer when he pulls an all-nighter at the library.

 

That’s great. That’s perfect. Leonard can’t wait.

 

That’s what Leonard thinks the whole time he’s unpacking. That’s what he thinks the whole time he’s rearranging furniture. That’s what he thinks the whole time he’s putting away dishes and pots and pans.

 

Then the door unlocks, and Leonard McCoy meets his roommate.

 

“You lost, kid?” he asks the blond.

 

“No, I don’t think so.” The kid steps past him, dropping his bag on the couch as he goes. “Wow. Nice digs, Len. I’m happy we swung this place.”

 

“Who— who the hell do you think you’re callin’ Len? I don’t know you.”

 

The kid pauses. He stares at Leonard for a moment, almost like he doesn’t really understand what’s coming out of his mouth. Then his eyes widen with realization and he huffs a laugh, shaking his head.

 

“Right, I never actually told you who I was.” The kid sticks out a hand. “James Tiberius Kirk. I’m the guy you’ve been messaging the last couple of months about your theory on deep space and its effect on the immune system.”

 

“... You’re Jim?”

 

“The very same.”

 

“You can’t be a day over fifteen.”

 

“Now, if you’re gonna get nasty, I’m gonna leave.” Jim grins. “I turned seventeen this spring.”

 

“That— you’re  _ seventeen _ ?” Leonard snorts. “Hell, kid, it looks like Santa forgot to give you a growth spurt for Christmas.”

 

Jim’s smile fades.

 

“Yeah, well, least I got my looks,” he says. “You already pick a room? Good.”

 

And with that, he turns on his heel, picks up his bag, and heads towards one of the empty rooms.

 

Somehow, Leonard feels like he just fucked up.

  
  


*.*

  
  


There are three things Leonard learns very quickly. One, Jim is a genius. He tears through his first semester like tissue paper with the same sort of vicious determination that Leonard has only seen in coupon clipping soccer moms and door-to-door Avon girls. He’s efficient, he’s thorough, and he’s  _ fucking terrifying _ when he really gets going.

 

Two, Jim drinks like a fish. Leonard has no idea where this kid gets his liquor, but he does, and no matter how much he drinks, he wakes up every morning on time for his eight am class as fresh as a daisy— which is bullshit, actually. Leonard never had the magic power that all the other kids had in high school— you know, the one that comes with being a teenager? The one that lets you blackout at a party and wake up for school the next day without feeling like you’re gonna die because you’re sixteen and indestructible? Life’s a bitch that way, sometimes.

 

Three, something— and Leonard still doesn’t know what— has  _ fucked this kid up _ . Maybe it’s all the time in spent in space, with minimal socialization with other children and a lot of time spent playing too close to a warp core. Maybe he chewed on lead-based tools, or hit his head on something radioactive. Maybe he’s spent time on disaster missions or sat in his room through a battle or two, seen things no little kid should see— that would explain the PTSD.

 

Leonard’s no psychologist, but he knows enough to realize that Jim? He’s not all there. He goes quiet mid-sentence, or zones out during conversations. He spends what free time he has (which isn’t much) watching movies— Leonard doesn’t think the kid has many friends besides whoever it is he’s constantly messaging (he’s thinking girlfriend. Jim makes gooey eyes at the screen every time he checks his comm), and that’s unhealthy for a kid his age.

 

There’s also the nightmares.

 

A routine developed pretty fast for the pair of them, all based around those nightmares. Because Jim’s not quiet. He kicks in his sleep and grunts and groans and even with a wall between them, more often than not Leonard can hear him through the wall. So it becomes a thing that— should Jim have a nightmare— he goes, grabs a spoon and the giant jar of honey Jim insists on keeping handy, and slips into Jim’s room to wake him up. Once properly awake, Jim takes a few spoonfuls of the honey, washes it down with one of the thirty water bottles he keeps on hand in his bedroom, and goes back to bed.

 

Neither of them talk about it, but it’s there. Leonard thinks Jim appreciates his silence in the matter.

 

The point is, though, the kid’s fucked up, and whatever the reason, it’s probably bad. Irreversible. Untreatable.

 

With any luck, Leonard might be the one to find the cure for it.

  
  


*.*

  
  


They’ve never actually spent much time in each other’s company. Len’s always running around, taking calls from his wife or helping out that one guy from his advanced neurochemistry class or taking a shift at the clinic or researching this one disease for a paper. There’s always something going on.

 

With all this in mind, it isn’t so surprising that Jim has never actually seen the guy just have relax and have a beer.

 

And then, there are midterms.

 

Jim is exhausted when by the end of it all, so exhausted and so relieved that it’s  _ over _ that he practically trips over his roommate at the door.

 

“Holy shit, Len!”

 

Len grunts.

 

“Language, ya little shit,” he says, pushing himself to his feet. He’d been leaning against the door, half-asleep on his backpack. “I was wonderin’ when you’d get back.”

 

“Why were you sleeping outside?”

 

“Left my keys. Was late for my ethics midterm and forgot ‘em in the rush.” He makes an effort to focus his eyes, then arches an eyebrow. “Aren’t you a li’l short for a Stormtrooper?”

 

Jim looks down. He’d elected to fuck it today, and left the apartment dressed in the same sweats and t-shirt he’d fallen asleep in the night before. The shirt was a favorite of his, designed to look like the chestplate of a  _ Star Wars _ Stormtrooper.

 

He looks back up at Len.

 

“You’ve seen Star Wars?”

 

“‘Course— watched the first one in my high school film class.” Leonard shrugs. “I thought it was pretty interestin’.”

 

Jim stares.

 

“... What?”

 

“You like  _ Star Wars _ ,” Jim says, almost dreamy. “Not even my Mom likes  _ Star Wars _ — I’ve been alone in my love for it since I was six.”

 

Leonard arches an eyebrow thoughtfully.

 

“Huh,” he says. “Well, if you’ve got it, we can marathon, if you want. I haven’t watched the series in years— but first we better head inside, I think.”

 

Jim fumbles for his keys and unlocks the door, stumbling inside after Leonard.

 

“Chronological order or in order of release?” Jim asks.

 

“Release— the switch in film quality makes my head hurt if it’s all… back and forth.” Leonard tosses his bag down on the floor by the front door. “I’m going to change.”

 

“Alright.”

 

Ten minutes later, Leonard’s sitting on a couch he hasn’t actually been able to appreciate since moving in with a beer in his hand and half the couch taken up by a kid who— while technically too young to drink— also has a beer in his hand. He elects to let it slide.

 

Leonard wonders what that means for the ethics exam he took this morning.

 

Whatever. His exams are over, he’s in sweatpants, there’s a cold beer in his hand, and he’s more than willing to believe in the bullshit of Star Wars, if only for a few hours.

 

Jim has better taste in movies than he realized.


	3. Chapter 3

Since Jim’s discovery of Leonard’s sordid cinematic past, the kid hasn’t shut up. Apparently, now that Leonard has managed to endear himself to Jim through the clever use of bad sci-fi, he’s now considered a friend. Jim doesn’t have a lot of friends, all told, so the ones he does have, he clings to.

 

It… isn’t as awful as Leonard would think it’d be— to have Jim hanging around, he means.

 

Jim’s a good kid. Too smart, too pretty, too charming, and too reckless for his own good, but well-meaning. Good hearted. Nothing like what you’d think of a seventeen year old kid with minimal time spent with other, non-Starfleet Humans.

 

(Though the Starfleet thing may explain that frankly  _ terrible _ sense of humor he’s got.)

 

Overall, Jim isn’t bad company, even if he does get a little (a lot) trashed if he’s left alone for too long. Leonard doesn’t even think it has anything really to do with whatever shit the kid’s got locked up in his head— he just likes to have a good time.

 

After a while, Leonard almost is comfortable drinking with a teenager after a long day of class.

  
  


*.*

  
  


The way they answer their comms is markedly different. When Leonard’s comm beeps, it’s usually Jocelyn, and that can go one of two ways. He might have a photograph of his baby girl on the screen (Jo’s barely two and a pig-tailed wonder of a little girl), or it might be a message from Jocelyn, revving up for a screaming match that somehow ends up being about how Leonard’s never home and how his career is costing more than he’ll be able to pay. Consequently, he approaches every comm message with hesitance, like he thinks the little piece of tech might bite.

 

Jim’s not like that at all.

 

He’s always messaging somebody, whether it’s Gaila, or his Mom, or Number One, or Syruk, or— and this one’s the most likely— Spock. His comm’s always in his pocket or in his hand— actually, that’s a lie. Sometimes, he plugs it in to charge.

 

“So… Spock’s your boyfriend,” Leonard asks one day over a breakfast of unreplicated eggs and bacon.

 

Jim doesn’t even look up from the little blue screen.

 

“Sort of. It’s kind of complicated.”

 

“But you like him?”

 

“Well, yeah, he’s my favorite.” Jim tugs a piece of bacon off his plate and stuffs it in his mouth.

 

Leonard thinks about that.

 

“... Is it hard?” he asks. “Dating a… him?”

 

“Huh? Oh. No, not really. The long distance thing sucks, but we’re used to it by now.”

 

“Oh.” Leonard fiddles with his orange juice glass absently. “... Listen, no offense, kid, but I gotta ask: what’s it like, dating a  _ Vulcan _ ?”

 

“...” Jim looks up. “It’s fine. Same as...  _ dating _ anyone else, probably.”

 

“The emotionless thing doesn’t bother you? The culture? The stiff, regulated, by-the-rules bulsshit that you seem to go out of your way to step on in day-to-day life?”

 

“Hey, I don’t—”

 

“Kid, you made your Anatomy professor cry.”

 

Jim pauses, deflating.

 

“I got _ bored _ , Len,” he says defensively. “He was teaching to a test, and I had  _ questions _ .”

 

Leonard snorts.

 

“Right. Anyway, back to question—”

 

“Vulcans only play at being emotionless robots, okay? I promise.” Jim sets his comm down and spears a piece of egg. “It’s just a cultural thing— if you work hard enough at it, you learn all the little things about their feelings, and it’s as easy to spot as it is on any Human.”

 

The brunet arches an eyebrow, and Jim sighs.

 

“Listen— I know Vulcans. I’ve spent most of my life around Vulcans. They aren’t so bad, Len— just reserved.”

 

“I don’t know. There’s gotta be something screwy going on if an entire culture decides to base itself on the Irish Method.”

 

“The… the what?”

 

“The Irish Method— to handling feelings.” Jim doesn’t look any less baffled. Leonard sighs.

 

“It’s my Dad’s joke,” he says. “The way Irish men handle feelings is this: you bottle everything up… and then you die.”

 

Jim stares.

 

“I never said it was funny,” Leonard points out. “But it’s not wrong, either. I don’t think I’ve ever seen my Dad cry.”

 

“Well, I’ve never seen my Dad, so I kinda understand that,” Jim says. “Hey, I think you’re late for the clinic.”

 

Leonard checks his watch and curses, pushing himself to his feet.

 

“My advisor’s on duty today— hell, Jim, why didn’t you say anything earlier?”

 

“We were eating.”

 

He curses again, grabbing his PADD and forgetting his keys in his rush out the door.

 

Jim waits a moment, then reaches over to pluck the leftover bacon off Leonard’s plate.

 

Waste not, want not, and all that jazz.

  
  


*.*

  
  


Spock:

How go your studies?

 

Jim:

Spock, you ask me that every day.

You know I’m doing fine.

 

Spock:

Mother says that such questions are a reminder of one’s personal stake in another.

 

Jim:

Okay. That’s weird, but okay.

My classes are fine. Has your Mom finished her new software for the Universal Translator yet?

 

Spock:

She has run into some difficulty due to the lack of Illyrians willing to inform her on their native language.

How is Mr. McCoy?

 

Jim:

Arguing with his wife in the other room. 

Something about him missing Jo’s first day at daycare.

I didn’t realize housewives had so much to do that they had to leave their kids at daycare.

 

Spock:

I would not know.

 

Jim:

Yeah, I guess not.

So, I found the perfect present for Len’s birthday.

 

Spock:

What have you decided on?

 

Jim:

I’m going to give him access to my medical file.

He’s already starting to compile research for his dissertation, the eager beaver.

 

Spock:

That is a very silly term, James.

Do you believe it necessary for him to have access to your file?

 

Jim:

No, but I think it’ll make him happy.

After all, he’s read about me before.

And written about my case.

I bet he’d love actually having access to my full medical work-up.

He seems like that kind of guy.

 

Spock:

I am sensing an ulterior motive to this particular gift.

 

Jim:

Well, I can’t say I’m not going to be watching for the moment that he realizes that Subject A is me.

If he realizes it.

Which I think he will.

He’s a smart cookie.

 

Spock:

I do not believe Mr. McCoy falls into any category of confectionary, let alone a cookie.

 

Jim:

And he doesn’t believe me when I say Vulcans have a sense of humor.


	4. Chapter 4

Leonard stares at the PADD in his hand. He looks at Jim. Then he looks back at the PADD. Then he looks back at Jim.

 

“How did you get this?” he asks.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“This medical file. How did you get it?”

 

“It’s mine.”

 

Leonard shakes his head.

 

“No. No, it’s not, because this is obviously the unedited medical file of Patient A from the immuno deficiencies case study you decided to fight me on,” he says. “This can’t be yours. You stole it.”

 

“Well, I did, because I didn’t feel like going the long, paperwork-filled route to get it, but no, seriously, it’s mine.” Jim rolls his eyes, his grin so bright McCoy wants to punch it. “Dude, did you think I was lying about all my allergies— also, how many kids do you think live in space— like, do you think there are daycares out there in the black, or what?”

 

Leonard feels his face flush. He’s probably got a vein pulsing in his temple, judging by the sparkle in those too-goddamn-blue eyes.

 

“So what you’re tellin’ me,” he says, each word spoken with tight, careful calm. “Is that you, the patient from the case study that I had been trying to refute when you started buggin’ me,  _ started buggin’ me because you were the patient from the case study _ .”

 

“Well, yeah, of course,” Jim says. “I like to keep an eye on what people say about me.”

 

Huh. Interesting logic. Allow Leonard to retort.

 

“Holy shit!” Jim lets out a choked yelp as he’s tackled to the floor. “Len, what— stop!”

 

Leonard isn’t a fighter, but he’s not a pussy, either, and even with Jim’s apparent scrappiness, it doesn’t take long to get the kid into a headlock.

 

“Len, God damn it!” Jim struggles, but Leonard’s got a good grip now, one good enough that he can give the kid a proper fucking noogie.

 

Mr. Perfect Hair deserves it.

 

There’s the sound of their front door unlocking and both of them freeze, Leonard’s fist still pressed into Jim’s hair. The door swings open, revealing a pretty young woman with red hair and freckles and a small child with wispy, auburn pigtails.

 

Her forehead wrinkles just slightly.

 

“Are we interrupting something?” she asks as the child shoots past her.

 

“Daddy!”

 

Leonard lets go of Jim just in time to catch the girl rocketing towards him.

 

His face breaks out into a smile, the biggest, most sincere smile Jim’s ever seen him wear as his arms wrap around her.

 

“Hey there, Jo-Jo,” he greets, rocking her back and forth. “Come to surprise Daddy, huh?”

 

The girl nods furiously, arms locked around her father’s neck. It makes him laugh— _ laugh _ , as if he does it all the time. As if Jim hasn’t actively been working to get something more than a sarcastic chuckle out of the guy since he met him.

 

This child can do the impossible.

 

Jim loves her.

 

Sighing, the blond gets to his feet, absently dusting off the ass of his pants before turning to who he assume must be Jocelyn. He holds out a hand.

 

“Jim Kirk,” he says. “I’m Len’s roommate.”

 

“I figured,” she says, shaking his hand. “I’m Joss. The wife.”

 

“I figured.” Jim grins. “I’ve seen pictures before, but Jo’s even cuter in real life.”

 

“She’s got her Mom’s looks, the lucky girl.” Leonard ambles over, Jo safely tucked into his side. He smiles at Jocelyn.

 

“Hey, sweetheart.” He presses a kiss to Jocelyn’s cheek. “This is a surprise.”

 

“Good. That’s what we wanted it to be.” She smiles, revealing a slight gap between her front teeth. “Happy birthday, Leo.”

 

“Aw, shucks.” Leonard’s smile gets  _ wider _ , the bastard. “It’s good to see you both. I definitely like my surprise.”

 

“I thought you would.” Jocelyn fingers the bag on her shoulder. “Let me put this down, and we’ll go out to a birthday lunch.”

 

“Here, I’ll take that.” Jim takes the bag with an easy smile. “Len, you want it in your room or the spare?”

 

“Why would he put it in the spare?”

 

Jim blinks at the sudden ice in Jocelyn’s tone. He turns to look at her, forcing a zen, uncomprehending smile.

 

“Well, we set it up for baby use,” he says easily. “I figure you’ve got all of Joanna’s clothes and toys in here, right?”

 

Jocelyn pauses, eyes widening with panic.

 

“Shit, I forgot her bag,” she says, smacking her forehead. “It was sitting right by the door, and I forgot to grab it. God-fucking- _ damn-it _ , Leo, I’m such an idiot.”

 

Something’s changed. There’s a tinge of desperation in Leonard’s calm, friendly tone when he speaks to her.

 

“Don’t worry, Joss,” he tells her. “I’ve got a bunch of stuff in the room already. You know how I pick up stuff that I think she might like. She can wear something from what I’ve got lying around.”

 

Now… Jim knows that’s not true. Yeah, Leonard’s has a bunch of new stuff on hand, but he’s always buying stuff,  _ just in case. _ Because— and Jim only just figured this out— Jocelyn forgetting stuff isn’t unusual. Her forgetting Jo’s bag is an expected, regular occurrence.

 

Huh.

 

The need to ask burns steadily in the back of his brain, but then he meets Leonard’s eyes.

 

Oh. Okay. Later.

 

Jim exits stage left as Leonard turns his attention back to his wife, moving to deposit Jocelyn’s bag in Leonard’s room before disappearing into his own.

 

He and Len can celebrate together some other time.

  
  


*.*

  
  


Spock:

I was not aware Mr. McCoy was married.

 

Jim:

Yeah, three years. 

They met in highschool, apparently. 

She was like, a sophomore.

 

Spock:

Is it common to have a child immediately after completing marriage rituals?

 

Jim:

Not so much anymore, but no one’s surprised if it happens.

Is it not like that on Vulcan?

 

Spock:

We are bonded in our adolescence, James. That would be a highly peculiar turn of events.

As adults, it is encouraged that bondmates dedicate time to developing their bond to the fullest before reproducing. A strong relationship with one’s bondmate is thought to create a more stable environment for one’s offspring.

 

Jim:

Is thought?

That doesn’t sound scientific.

 

Spock:

There are certain variables that come with children that lead to slightly different results each time. However, there is a marked difference in the development of a child born soon after the cementing of a bond and one born of parents with a history of mutual growth and understanding.

 

Jim:

Huh.

Good to know.

So, I think Jocelyn thinks I’m hot.

 

Spock:

I still do not understand why Humans persist to refer to various forms of attractiveness through the use of vague phrases pertaining to temperature.

How do you know she finds you attractive?

 

Jim:

Nothing much. 

She tried to get me into bed when Len went to pick up groceries.

It was kind of flattering, really.

  
  


Jim shivers at the sudden surge of possessiveness that crashes over him.  _ Whoa _ . He’s never felt that before.

 

Spock:

That is not acceptable behavior. Particularly from a woman who has attached herself to another partner.

 

Jim:

Aw, Spock, you jealous?

Don’t worry.

I turned her down.

Cheaters make my skin crawl.

 

Spock:

Have you informed Mr. McCoy of his wife’s indiscretions?

 

Jim:

I think he suspects something.

Jocelyn’s not all there, if you get my meaning.

There’s a lot of stuff she does that he seems pretty resigned to.

 

Spock:

I do not understand your meaning.

 

Jim:

It doesn’t matter.

She’s a nice woman. 

It’s easy to see why Len loves her.

She’s just got problems.

 

Spock:

I still do not understand. How can you consider her kind when she has done something that is by its definition harmful to your friend?

 

Jim:

Because life isn’t black and white, Spock.

I’m going to talk to Len about it once they leave.

Until then, I’m keeping it to myself. No need to rock the boat while Jo’s around.

 

Spock:

Very well. If you believe that is the best course of action, I cannot argue. I have limited experience on the subject of non-Vulcan relationships.

 

Jim:

I’ll tell you if Len tries to kill me, okay?

You can come play Dread Pirate Roberts.

 

Spock:

I do not believe the context of your potential murder quite fits the fate of Princess Buttercup.

 

Jim:

You’d come save me though, right?

Or at least avenge me.

Avenge me, Spock!

 

Spock:

As you wish.


	5. Chapter 5

Leonard feels… lighter, after Jocelyn leaves. Not like anything’s fixed— it doesn’t work like that, with her. But still, he feels lighter, because Jim’s a smart kid, more than smart enough to figure out what was going on with his whole… relationship.

 

It’s hard for Leonard to explain, so the fact that Jim just gets it? It’s a relief like no other.

 

Once that’s out in the open, Leonard feels better. It’s just that simple.

 

The rest of the year goes by fast after Jocelyn and Jo visit. There’s a sudden rush of tests and papers and practicals that there’s barely time to do anything but come home and pass out on the couch. The end of the year comes as a relief, a moment where the both of them can actually breathe.

 

“What are you doin’ for the summer, kid?” Leonard asks the night before their last exam. Dinner’s pizza, this time around, because Leonard can’t be bothered to cook and Jim burns water when he gets to this point of all-around exhaustion.

 

Jim shrugs.

 

“Mommy still has the house she and my Dad bought after they got married— it’s in Iowa. Apparently that’s where they build the ships for Starfleet.”

 

Leonard arches an eyebrow.

 

“That sounds nice. Is she gonna meet you there?”

 

“Nah. She’s off-planet, and it’s kind of stupid to call her off the ship to hang out with me for two months.” There’s a pause, and then,

 

“I don’t think she’d appreciate spending time in  _ their _ house, you know?”

 

Leonard doesn’t know, really, but he guesses it isn’t so strange.

 

“Well, hell, maybe I’ll visit ya, then,” he drawls after a moment. “I mean, there can’t be much in Iowa besides corn and cows, but Jo’ll probably appreciate getting her playmate back.”

 

Jim chuckles.

 

“Yeah, that’d be pretty cool.”

  
  


*.*

  
  


Two weeks into Jim’s self-imposed isolation (which isn’t so bad, really, except for all of his Dad’s stuff scattered around like somebody had a tantrum involving projectiles and science blues), he gets a phone call.

 

“Hey, Jim.”

 

“Hey, Len.”

 

“Um… listen, Joss is in inpatient again, and I was wonderin’... think maybe me and Jo could come visit ya? She’s pretty down about the whole thing.”

 

Jim doesn’t think about it.

 

“Sure, man. Door’s always open.”

  
  


*.*

  
  


Jocelyn spends the rest of the summer in the hospital, so Jo and Leonard stay in Iowa. Jim puts up a tire swing and keeps classic Disney on loop for her while Leonard talks him through setting up a still behind the house.

 

Spock is bombarded with holos. He takes it with surprising grace, even when he get the holovid of Jo solemnly informing the camera than when she grows up, Uncle Jim is going to marry her.

 

It’s a nice summer.

  
  


*.*

  
  


School start up again. Their living situation is the same as last year’s, only this time around, Leonard knows Jim hacked the school.

 

He doesn’t really mind.

  
  


*.*

  
  


Spock’s behavior has been unusual, these past few days. He has been ill-tempered and curt, isolating himself from his peers in an increasingly worrying manner. T’Pring has stopped visiting the house completely— something she hasn’t done since before she was introduced to James and Gaila— and it appears the rest of his classmates have become… intimidated, by his behavior.

 

Sarek knows many things. He knows less things about his son, but his knowledge on the subject of Spock is still greater than most perhaps realize. He knows his son is the oldest of his class. He knows his son is half-Human, even if his mostly-Vulcan physiology more often than not overrides this fact. He knows his son has a bondmate several star systems away. He knows— even if his son still does not realize— that it is his Time.

 

“You have been unable to meditate,” he remarks when he catches Spock in the kitchen one afternoon. “Tell me what disturbs you.”

 

Spock is quiet for a moment.

 

“I cannot explain it,” he says finally. “It is like… heat. In my blood. Almost like… James would likely define it as rage, though I do not believe it is accurate. Rage is a response. I have experienced nothing that would lead to such an illogical emotion, and yet…”

 

He trails off, yet another sign of his recent peculiarity.

 

Sarek knows what is troubling his son.

 

“The calm you yearn for likely cannot be found on Vulcan,” he says. “I believe you require the help of someone better attuned to your mind.”

 

“You cannot help me?”

 

“I cannot,” Sarek says firmly. “But I believe you know of the one who can.”

 

“... You believe James may prove helpful in my endeavor to restore order to my mind,” Spock sounds skeptical. “Father, I believe you have forgotten who James Kirk is.”

 

“He is perhaps the most Human of his species I have met,” Sarek agrees. “Utterly illogical. But he knows you better than anyone on Vulcan, and perhaps his methods may prove more helpful to you than what you may find here.”

 

“You suggest I go to Earth.”

 

“I suggest you take into account James’ devotion to you.” Sarek does not think about what he’s trying to convey. He’s gotten quite good at the art of implication— he’s a diplomat, after all— but verbal implication does not shield him from the knowledge of what he knows his son must do. “He will go to great lengths to help you regain balance.”

 

Spock thinks about this.

 

“I shall ask him if he has a spare room,” he decides. “If you truly believe he can help.”

 

“I do.”

 

His son nods thoughtfully, tapping his fingers absently against the counter. Sarek leaves before he can be questioned further.

 

It will be better for his son to (finally) realize for himself.

  
  


*.*

  
  


Jim is really, really horny.

 

It’s not unusually, really, but there’s been a marked increase of jack-off breaks in his routine recently, enough to make him wonder if maybe something’s wrong.

 

“Hey, Len,” he says out of the blue, talking over John Travolta as he gyrates across the screen. “I need a diagnosis for something.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah.” Jim resolutely stares at the screen. “Symptoms include erotic dreams, excessive masturbation, and general ‘is it hot in here, or is it just me?’-ness.”

 

“Nymphomania,” Leonard says flatly. He doesn’t bother looking away from the movie— Saturday Night Fever, as per his request— just scratches his balls and shoves another pretzel in his mouth.

 

“... Huh.” Jim sips his beer. “What if it isn’t nymphomania?”

 

Leonard snorts.

 

“Ain’t you a little old for the birds and the bees talk, Jim?”

 

“Oh, shut up.”

 

“The cure’s easy— go get laid.” Leonard looks over then, arching an eyebrow. “I’m sure somebody’ll lower their standards enough for a blue-eyed bastard like you.”

 

“Aww, you think so?” Jim’s smile fades. “Anyway, I can’t do that.”

 

“Right, the boyfriend. I always forget.”

 

The boyfriend. Spock.

 

He’s been feeling weird, recently, though Jim can’t quite place why. Spock’s been doing his best to bottle it all up, but sometimes, the bottle cracks, and Jim feels his blood turn to fire.

 

Jim goes stiff, and not in the (recently uncomfortably frequent) usual way.

 

Spock has  _ fire in his blood _ . Jim’s read enough shitty harlequin romances to connect the dots. But why’s he hiding it? If the guy’s just as messed up as he is, why doesn’t he just— oh, wait.

 

God, he’s such an idiot.

 

“Len?”

 

“What?”

 

“The last birds and the bees talk I had was with my husband’s mother.”

 

“That sounds uncomfortable.” Leonard pauses. “Wait,  _ husband _ ?”

 

“Yeah, technically— but that’s not the point. The point is, I think you’re going to vacate the premises, soonish.”

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

Jim thinks back to this morning, when he’d answered with an emphatic  _ yes _ to Spock’s inquiry after a spare bedroom.

 

“I mean, you’re not going to want to be here,” he says. “From the twenty-third to at least the thirtieth. Possibly longer.”

 

“Jim, you’re going to have to give me a little more than that.”

 

“It’s a matter of Vulcan biology,” Jim says. “You remember how I said Spock was coming to visit?”

 

“I— yes?”

 

“Well. That’s got something to do with it.”

 

“You’re not a good liar, Jim,” Leonard informs him. “And your avoidance tactics could use some work. Explain.”

 

“Well, Len, once every seven years, a Daddy Vulcan will turn to his Mommy Vulcan and go, ‘let us fornicate like Terran bunnies’ and—”

 

“Oh, Jesus, never mind.” Leonard grimaces and turns back to the movie. “Fine. I ought to stop by the house anyhow. It’s been a while.”

 

“Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”

 

“Just clean up, okay? And I mean  _ sanitize. _ I’m running a blacklight over this place before I touch any of the flat surfaces, and I swear to God—”

 

“Sure, Len. I got it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what's coming. So does Jim.
> 
> Spock does not.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Porn Farr (Part 1/2).
> 
> Yes, it's been a very long wait, but we've finally gotten around to the gay sex. We hope you enjoy!

Jim feels like he’s got spiders under his skin, and he doesn’t know why. Scratch that, he  _ does _ know why, he knows exactly why. He just didn’t know he’d be so affected by it.

 

He’s not a Vulcan. This is bullshit.

 

The knock on the door is quiet, just a polite rap of knuckles, but it startles Jim as if klaxons had gone off in his ear.

 

He trips over his feet in his haste to get to the door, ripping it open with such force he nearly smashes his hand between the faux-wood and the wall.

 

“Spock.”

 

The Vulcan doesn’t speak, and for a breathless moment, there’s silence; just long enough for Jim to notice all the differences between Spock at seventeen and Spock now— his height, the sharpness in his face, the new bend in his nose like someone’s broken it. He sees that, he sees the barely there shake in his long-fingered hands, and he sees the way he’s too green, almost like he has a fever, and—

 

And Jim’s head makes contact with the wall.

 

Spock is pressed against him and whoa, there’s a dick there, that’s definitely a dick. Spock’s face is very close to Jim’s. He can feel the Vulcan’s breath against his lips.

 

“You miss me?” he asks, smiling slightly.

 

Spock  _ growls _ , what the fuck, and his hands tighten around Jim’s shoulders.

 

“I don’t know what’s happening,” he hisses against Jim’s cheek. “I can’t—”

 

Oh, for  _ fuck’s _ sake.

 

“We’re  _ bonded _ , you moronic fuck.” Jim reaches up to wrap his arms around the back of Spock’s neck. “And this is pon farr, so get your  _ shit _ together and  _ do _ it alrea— mmph!”

 

Jim doesn’t mind being interrupted, because Spock’s kissing him, one hand tearing at Jim’s shirt while the other one hooks under his ass and lifts him off the ground.

 

Distantly, he hears the door  _ snick _ shut, which— considering Spock is currently trying to climb down his throat through force of will alone— means that a helpful neighbor pulled it shut as they passed.

 

He’ll worry about that later, though, because right now? Right now, Spock’s having trouble with Jim’s belt, and he’s got to help with that.

 

The buckle clinks open and his jeans are tugged down to his thighs. He isn’t wearing underwear— he thought it would be counterproductive, but in retrospect, he should have just foregone the whole clothes thing altogether— and judging by the weird little groan that rumbles in Spock’s throat, it was a good decision.

 

Spock’s hand wrapping around his dick is a shock, though Jim can’t for the life of him explain why. He lets out a stuttered moan, one hand sliding up to clench in Spock’s hair while the other am wraps around the his back, Jim’s hand splaying in the space between his shoulder blades. He pulls, desperate to bring the Vulcan even closer than he already is, but he’s so close already and two atoms cannot occupy the same space and—

 

Spock hand starts  _ moving _ and all thought is pushed from Jim’s mind.

 

It all becomes a blur of too much sensation too soon. Spock’s hand stroking him, almost too hard, too fast. The erection grinding against his ass. And Spock in his head, all blind lust and desire and an overwhelming wave of  _ mine _ .

 

Jim’s more than alright with that.

 

Almost before Jim can even register the fact that yes, he  _ is  _ on the receiving end of a handjob from a Vulcan, Spock bites down hard enough on the side of his neck that the world goes white for a moment.

 

When he regains awareness of his surroundings, Spock’s no longer thrusting against him. He’s breathing heavier, but the shaking has subsided.

 

Jim almost laughs when he realizes Spock just came in his robes. He  _ doesn’t _ , but it’s a close thing.

 

“Spock, you have to let me down.”

 

There’s a deep growl low in his bondmate's throat. Spock’s grip on his hips, two handed now, tightens to the point of pain.

 

“Spock. I’m not going anywhere,” he soothes. “Let’s just take this to my bed, okay? Because as hot as the idea of you fucking me against the wall is, it’ll hurt like a bitch without lubricant.”

 

Spock’s mouthing up his throat again, leaving a trail of small nips. Jim can already feel the bruise from the bite earlier forming and it’s definitely a good ache. But they have to move. Because Jim will fight Spock off before he lets his first time turn into a medical emergency.

 

“Come on. You can carry me if you want, we just have to go to my room.”

 

He takes JIm up on that offer, and Jim would be lying if he said that it wasn’t hot.

 

He’s dropped unceremoniously on the bed, bouncing a little with the impact. “Get undressed, you idiot,” Jim scolds, throwing what remains of his clothes across the room. 

 

Spock scrambles to obey, and honestly Jim had no idea that Vulcan robes could come of that quickly, because he’s just managed to wrap his hand around the bottle in his drawer before Spock is on him again.

 

And they’re naked this time, and it’s so much better this way, the heat of Spock’s skin pressing him down into the mattress. The hard line of Spock’s cock pinned against his thigh. The kisses so long and frequent that it doesn’t take Jim long to feel a little oxygen deprived.

 

He manages to break away long enough to practically throw the bottle of lubricant at Spock. “There’s  _ always  _ time for lubricant.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Hobbit tried to write porn. Tried being the key word here.  
> You can thank Freyja for the E rating.
> 
> Hobbit: "I tried!"  
> Freyja: "Honey, you used the word 'mount.'"  
> Hobbit: "Shut up it was conversational."


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Porn Farr (2/2)

Jim has never had someone so… focused. On him. Focused on him.

 

Spock stares him down, all smoldering intensity and manic, almost-but-not-quote-terrifying possessiveness. Jim can feel his flush creeping down his chest, can feel the bruises already forming on his skin, but it’s something different to feel it then it is to know that Spock is  _ looking _ for those things, is probably  _ getting off _ on those things.

 

Despite knowing his immediate future is going to involve literally getting fucked up the ass, Jim doesn’t think he has ever felt so powerful.

 

For what feels like an eternity, nothing happens. It’s getting to the point where Jim is debating asking Spock if he needs directions when a slicked finger is shoved into his ass with no warning. Jim hisses, forcing himself to relax. Spock’s finger feels different enough from his own that the sensation is surprising.

 

After a few quick thrust, a second finger is forced in, and this time Jim can feel the stretch, and fuck it feels good. He pushes back into it and hears Spock hum, pleased.

 

There’s a couple of easy thrusts, letting Jim relax. He’s just starting to be comfortable with the feeling when Spock’s fingers bend and all of a sudden it feels like being struck by lightning. Jim moans, elbows collapsing, his face falls into the bed.

 

“Fuck, Spock.” He arches his back, harshening the angle. He started thinking  _ more,  _ and  _ there  _ so loudly he might as well have be screaming, come  _ on _ , Spock—

 

And then Spock removes his fingers and he almost does. He’s still reeling from the sudden emptiness when the Vulcan grabs him by the hips and yanks him back onto his dick.

 

Now, Jim may be a virgin (or was prior to half a second ago) but he’s no prude. Yet no amount of masturbation prepared him for the reality of actually getting fucked. Here, Spock was in control. He could torture him, and there was nothing Jim could do about it.

 

With the fever burning his blood, the pace Spock set was  _ brutal _ .

 

Jim knows he’s making noises like a cheap hooker, but he can’t help it. It’s all too much. It’s not enough. He can’t do anything to react. If he tenses, he feels even fuller. If he relaxes, Spock goes deeper. It’s like the matter-antimatter reactor all over again.

 

He fucking loves it.

 

Then Spock adjusts his angle and the world goes white.  _ Thank you, Vulcan precision. _

 

Jim’s coming, and it should be a relief, but Spock doesn’t stop. He keeps pushing, pressing maddeningly against his prostate with frankly  _ painful  _ accuracy with every snap of his hips.

 

Here Jim was thinking that sort of thing only happened in the gay literotica he totally hasn’t been using as a reference for just this situation. 

 

Never has Jim been more glad for his eighteen year old libido when he feels himself harden again. But  _ fuck _ he’s still so sensitive, almost to the point of pain, and he can’t breathe and he can’t move and he’s seeing stars with even the slightest shift of his position.

 

He tries to squirm away slightly, just to get some relief, but Spock’s grip is iron. Jim’s going  nowhere.

 

It takes him less than a minute to come again. It actually hurts this time.

  
_ This is going to be the best long weekend ever. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think any of you understand what an experience it is trying to write porn with your room mate. We lived, though.


	8. Chapter 8

Spock comes back to himself lying in James’ bed, the human in question curled into his side and utilizing Spock’s chest as a pillow. James is warm and relaxed. Contentment and love seep through his skin in a tide.

For the first few moments, it is peace.

And then realization comes crashing in. Spock just… the blood fever overtook him and he was drawn to James. It was James who embraced his body and soothed his mind.

It was James. It has always been James.

It’s like the final variable of an equation falling into place.

The moment it does is when the panic sets in.

He can not be bonded to Jim (the fact that he is is beyond apparent, but he shouldn’t be). Spock is meant to have a Vulcan wife. He is supposed to have a good match. To be bonded to one that will make a good member of his house. James is… James is so Human it is nearly unbearable. He is emotions bleeding through the room. He’s intentionally mannerless. He’s tactless, and blunt, and wields his voice like a precision weapon. James is manipulation and cheating in competition. He makes Spock unsteady. He makes him doubt.

James is the opposite of everything his wife should be.

Spock knows what his father will think (does think? It is apparent his father was aware long before Spock himself). What T’Pau will think. James will become nothing more than another mark against his right to be considered Vulcan.

James, most likely feeling his distress, began to awaken. “Hey. Spock?”

“I have to leave.”

James’ face crumples oddly, confusion shining through sleepy blue eyes. “What? No. Spock, you just got here.”

Spock leaves the bed and begins to dress.

“Hang on, where’s the fire?”

“There is no fire. I must leave immediately.” Spock finishes clothing himself in what might be record time, and practically bolts for the door. “This has been a mistake.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” 

James almost falls out of the bed he tries to move so quickly. Spock knows how this will play out, he knows that James will beg and plead with him to stay. He can already feel his emotions pouring over the bond. James is confusion and hurt and worry. He is fear, and love and just too much, all at once.

Spock snaps the bond closed. He hears James gasp at the sudden emptiness. A hand catches his elbow.

“Spock, don’t—”

“Do not presume to touch me, Jim.”

He frees his arm with a sharp tug and stalks out without a glance behind. For the first time since he was seven years of age, there are no human emotions pouring through his head.

It’s almost a relief.

He doesn’t stop at leaving James’— no, Jim’s— residence. He just goes and goes until the Earth itself is shrinking outside of the viewport. It’s not until then, at the moment of no return, that it occurs to him.

This may be the greatest mistake he has ever made.

 

*.*

 

There is an almost eerie calm in the apartment when Leonard gets back— or maybe it’s just calm. He wouldn’t know, really, because he hasn’t had a truly calm moment in his apartment since Jim moved in.

It’s feels empty, like no one’s been home in a while. The sun has set, but no lights are on. There’s no evidence of Jim having eaten anything during his impromptu long weekend (and there would be evidence, that damn kid never does his own dishes). The thought crosses his mind that Jim might be out, until he realizes the kid’s keys are in the bowl on the kitchen table.

This doesn’t look good.

He goes to Jim’s door, gives it a gentle tap with his knuckles.

No answer. He tries again, a little louder.

“Jim?” Leonard frowns, and eases the door open. “You alright?”

It’s just as dark in here as it is in the rest of the apartment. Jim’s curled up under a blanket on his bed, or he probably is, if the vaguely Kirk-shaped lump under the blanket is anything to go by. A vaguely Kirk-shaped, whimpering lump.

Leonard takes the whimpering in place of an answer, the answer being an obvious no.

“He left me.”

And god damn it, Jim sounds so lost, and so small, like the eighteen year old that he actually is. And while Leonard isn’t the best at the emotional stuff, he figures he ought to give it a shot. So he sits down on the edge of Jim’s bed and pulls the covers back enough to find the kid’s face.

“He’s gone.”

Jim’s cheeks are wet, his eyes red. His voice is hoarse enough to make Leonard want to reach for a cough drop.

“Listen, kid… a fight’s not the end of the world.” And Leonard is speaking from experience here. “You’re gonna fight, alright? Just give it a day or two, then give him a call.”

“We didn’t fight. He just… I think he panicked, Len.” Jim sniffles and burrows further into his bed. “He panicked and fucking ran, the bastard, and I couldn’t stop him.”

Leonard doesn’t know what to say to that.

 

*.*

 

When Spock arrives home, he marches straight passed his mother, ignoring her greeting, and right into his father’s study.

Sarek looks up at him. “Spock. We did not expect you home for another week. Is everything well?”

“Yes, father.” Spock’s chest is aching. “I am indeed well.”

Sarek gives him a searching look. “There is something on your mind. Speak it.”

He nods. “I have decided to apply to the Vulcan Science Academy.”

“And James?”

“Is not an issue.”

Spock still isn’t sure if he has made the correct decision, but his father’s eyes glimmer with approval, and that’s worth something.

 

*.*

 

In the end, it takes five days for Jim’s headache to subside enough for the kid to be in a lit room. Those five days are McCoy’s personal hell. Or practice for hands on patient care. Either way, it sucks.

When he finally coaxes Jim out of his nest, he gets the full explanation. Sitting next to each other on the couch, kitchen lights on behind them, casting Jim’s face in shadow. It’s next to impossible to see his expressions, so he’ll just have to judge by the kid’s tone. Wonderful.

“So what started this freak out of his?”

“When I was four years old, we had a forced playdate.”

Leonard knows he’s making a face, goddammit, but seriously? “You married a fucking Vulcan when you were four?” No wonder the kid’s a mess.

Jim nods.

“How is that even legal?”

That earns him a chuckle. Thank Christ.

“It’s not like that, Len. It’s like… a mood ring in your head.”

“So you get each other’s emotions.” That explains how the kid came to believe Vulcans had them in the first place.

“And thoughts sometimes… if you think them loud enough. Takes practice, though.”

Strangely enough, this makes sense. So far so good. Now all Leonard has to do is get to whatever the fuck happened last week.

“You said he panicked. How can he panic just now if you two have been married for almost fifteen years?”

Jim’s quiet for a while, pensive bordering on melancholy bordering on Tarsus-level I don’t wanna talk about it. McCoy thinks maybe he shouldn’t have asked, but then,

“He didn’t know.”

There’s a whole other clusterfuck hidden in those words, and Leonard knows he’ll hear it all later. But for now, all he does is pull the kid into a hug and lets him cry.

Somehow, he doesn’t think it’s enough.

**Author's Note:**

> The playlist for this fic can be found [here.](https://8tracks.com/starhobbit/i-walk-the-line#smart_id=dj:16203706&play=1)
> 
> Follow [not-freyja](https://not-freyja.tumblr.com) and [straight-outta-hobbiton](https://straight-outta-hobbiton.tumblr.com) on Tumblr.


End file.
